Upsidonia Part 28

[34] In one sense, all the members of the Upsidonian Upper House were puppet peers. Their chamber was the oldest building in Culbut, and one of which the inhabitants of that city were justly proud. But it lacked accommodation. It had been built at a time when there were only twelve peers in the whole of Upsidonia, and as it had been reckoned that never more than half of them would be present at a debate, it had been designed to hold only six people.

But, according to the system on which the Upper House worked, this was ample. All the business was done by five peers--the Lord Chancellor, and two representing each party. As there were no facilities for reporting debates, they held none. In fact, speeches had reduced themselves in the course of years to three formulae. These were: (1) "Let it go"; (2) "I think not"; and (3) "Try again."

Two peers made a quorum, and as a matter of convenience business was usually left to the Lord Chancellor and one peer, who represented the Government when one side was in office, and the Opposition when the other side was in office.

But it must not be supposed that this ancient House had been denuded of all its powers. Far from it. Parliamentary business was much less contentious than with us, and this simple procedure was found to suffice for the bills of most sessions. It worked perhaps better for one party than the other, but as most of the peers belonged to the larger party it was considered only fair that it should do so.

But when a really controversial measure was sent up to the House of Lords, there was a very different state of affairs. Then all the peers in the country were ent.i.tled to vote, and the full Committee sat for a week, while the papers were coming in.

It was usually a struggle between the "Let it go's," and the "I think nots"; but the "Try agains" were sometimes in the majority, and the Bill was sent down to the Lower House for amendment. The peers had no machinery for amending it themselves, and no direct means of indicating the amendments they wished made. With the common-sense that was a feature of so many Upsidonian inst.i.tutions, it was taken for granted that the House of Commons would know perfectly well what was expected of them, and would put it into their Bill if they wanted it pa.s.sed when it was sent up a second time.

The great body of peers--men for the most part who had other things to think of--seldom made any objection to announcing which way they intended to vote. If they didn't, they were liable to be constantly worried by people coming to them to find out, when they wanted to get on with their work.

If the Government was particularly annoyed at the rejection of a Bill, they would send it up again, and, to avoid any further fuss, the peers would usually fall back upon a fourth formula, which provided for this contingency. This was: "Settle it for yourselves"; and it meant that the Bill would go to the House of Lords Committee again in the usual way, and would be pa.s.sed.

The system worked well on the whole, and it had never happened that a Bill had gone more than three times to the whole body of peers. They always broke down on the third canva.s.s, even if it was on a question that affected themselves adversely. They could not stand the nuisance of being continually interrupted and annoyed; and many of them turned against their own party for the sake of getting it all over, and being allowed to settle down quietly again.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

My last day in Upsidonia had arrived, and the time was fast approaching when I was about to rob that country of its brightest jewel. Towards the evening, feeling restless, I set out for a walk. Miriam was with her mother, and as there was no one else whose company I desired at that time I went alone.

I thought I might as well see exactly how long it would take to walk to the other side of Culbut so as to run no risk of meeting many people when I should take the same road with Miriam, very early the next morning.

When I got into the busier part of Culbut, I bought an evening paper, and running my eye idly over its columns, came upon one headed: "The Truth about John Howard at Last. Arrest Shortly Expected. New Peer Victimised."

I took refuge upon the top of a tram-car, and read the column through.

It stated that the Master of McGillicuddy, the son of the respected Highland Baron of that ilk, had been brought to the office of the paper by another highly respected n.o.bleman--in whom I had no difficulty in recognising Lord Potter--and had authorised them to announce, for the protection of all honest people, that there was a dangerous criminal in their midst, whom they would do well to beware of.

A prisoner undergoing a term of penal servitude for representing himself as a professor of dead languages, and practising a long series of cruel frauds on young students, many of whom had lost places in the monthly examinations owing to his empirical methods of tuition, had escaped from gaol some weeks before. He was known to have gone south, no doubt with the idea of practising the same frauds on the less sophisticated scholars of Upsidonia. There was no doubt whatever that the person already arrested on his arrival in Culbut for a gross insult to a highly respected personage was this escaped prisoner, masquerading under another name. The police, who had hitherto failed to trace the escaped convict, had been notified, and, by the time these words were in print, would no doubt have got him once more safely under lock and key.

Unless the paper was mistaken in this last statement, I had probably pa.s.sed the police on my way into Culbut, and they were now at Magnolia Hall awaiting my return. According to the descriptions given by the Master of McGillicuddy of the escaped prisoner, he might have been my twin brother dressed up in my own clothes.

I need not reproduce the scorn with which the journal, which was that chiefly read by the members of the dirty set, expressed itself about the newly created peer, who had been taken in by this unscrupulous criminal, and had even allowed him to become engaged to his daughter. It pained me greatly, and would certainly pain Lord Magnolia no less when he should come to read it.

The blow was a stunning one. If there was such a criminal at large as had been described by the Master of McGillicuddy, which I had no reason to doubt, it would be very difficult to persuade the police that I was not that criminal. Indeed, how could I expect to persuade them of anything! I could give no account of myself that would satisfy them that they were arresting an innocent person, and even if the Highland police eventually disclaimed me, I knew it would take some time to get them to Culbut, and in the meantime I should certainly be kept in custody. It was quite certain that the moment I returned to Magnolia Hall I should be arrested, even if I got so far, and at dawn the next morning, when Miriam and I ought to have been starting on the happiest of journeys together, I should be most comfortably housed in prison.

The more I thought of it, the more angry I became at this most unkind stroke of fate, and the more angry with the preposterous Lord Potter, who had undoubtedly brought it upon me. I could not get at Miriam to tell her to start alone and join me somewhere on the road. I could do nothing. I was robbed of all I had hoped for as it seemed just within my grasp.

I walked on and on, trying to form some plan. I walked right through Culbut, with my eyes mostly on the ground.

By and by, something caused me to lift them, and I found myself pa.s.sing a little wood, which, with a start of surprise, I recognised as the one from which I had made my first entry into Culbut.

It was, as Edward had said, and as was now quite plain to me, part of the grounds of a large inst.i.tution, and looked, from this side, quite unlike what I had taken it to be when I had entered it from the other.

Still, in spite of Edward's description of the kind of country that lay beyond, I had certainly entered this wood from the cave, in the way I have described, and I had not the smallest doubt but what I could return by the same way.

I thought that I might as well satisfy myself of the exact whereabouts of the cave, so that I should be able to lead Miriam directly to it, if I should succeed in getting her away. The only plan that seemed to me possible was to keep away from Magnolia Hall until nightfall, and then try in some way to communicate with her, and boldly carry her off under cover of darkness. Very likely the house would be watched, and we might be followed, even if we escaped. I did not want to run any risk by groping about in the wood, when possibly time would be of value.

I found the trees and the bushes without the least difficulty, just as I remembered them, and pushed through them to the dark aperture of the cave.

I went in a short distance, not meaning to go very far, but just to satisfy myself that the way was clear.

I am sure that I had not penetrated more than fifty yards, for the light still held faintly, when suddenly the same roar was in my ears as had frightened the man who had entered the cave with me from the other end.

I was aware of something odd in my head, which may have been a heavy blow, although it did not feel like one.

Then I lost consciousness completely.

I came to, to find myself lying in bed, in a little room lit by a lattice window, through which was a view of rolling purple moor. I felt very weak, and when I tried to move, found that my body was heavily bandaged and my head swathed. The movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through me, and again I lost consciousness.

This was nearly six weeks ago. I am now sitting in a little slip of a garden behind the inn, with the moor coming right up to it. I cannot walk yet, for both my legs were broken by the subsidence of the cave, as well as a few other comparatively unimportant bones in my body. But my head has been clear for a long time, and I have employed my enforced leisure in writing this account of what befell me.

I cannot, even now, make out exactly what happened. The kind folk who rescued me, and have looked after me ever since, stoutly aver that the fall of earth happened on this side of the cave, almost directly I and my companion entered it; that he gave the alarm immediately, and I was extricated within an hour.

If this is true, what becomes of Upsidonia?

It cannot be true. But I no longer talk of Upsidonia to them, for when I did so, after I began to mend, they looked askance at me and were obviously hiding something. Even the doctor, who rides over the moors from Eppington on a s.h.a.ggy pony, told me that I should not get well as long as I clung to such delusions.

Delusions! Is Miriam a delusion, I should like to know? Can a man fall in love with a delusion?

No. These people must know perfectly well of the existence of Upsidonia, but for some reason of their own they wish to keep it dark. Perhaps I shall know why when I get well again.

But I don't much care what their reasons are. The cave is blocked up now, but from where I sit I can see a tall rampart of rock about a mile to the north across the moor. It looks inaccessible, but there must be some way over it, or round it. When I can walk again I shall find a way.

For beyond it lies Upsidonia, and Upsidonia contains Miriam.

Wherever Miriam is, I am going to find her.